Page 4 of Falling for the Felid
I let Erik lead the way to the offices, since I haven’t actually been here before. Training camp was held in a facility a few hours away, supposedly because it allows the team to have bonding time away from the distractions they’d face at home. I didn’t spend a lot of time with the team, myself, but from what I saw, it wasn’t working. It would take a lot more than being in forced proximity to bond that group.
“Hi, Lurlene,” Erik says cheerfully to a woman coming out of a kitchenette with a mug cradled lovingly between her palms. “This is Ari, from the DEA. He’s?—”
“So you’re the liaison,” she interrupts, looking me up and down. “I guess you’ll do.”
“Temporary liaison,” I correct, not wanting anyone to get the idea that I’d be willing to take on this job permanently. “Nice to meet you.”
“Lurlene is Craig’s assistant,” Erik explains helpfully, and I file that information away. I’ve met Craig Voss, the general manager, several times, and based on what I know of him, his assistant is bound to be a highly capable, no-bullshit type of person. I bet she’ll be the one who knows everything that happens within the organization, so I should try to stay on her good side.
“You’ll be here one day a week, right?” she asks, already walking away. We trail after her.
“Yes, but I’ll make sure everyone has my contact details in case you need to reach me when I’m not here.” Even though I really hope they don’t use them. It’s an outreach program, and Erik and I will be working on it together. How much time can it take on the days we don’t have activities?
Lurlene makes a noise that might be acknowledgement. I think she’s a vampire, but that’s a guess. Based on her size, I’m pretty sure she’s not a demon or hellhound—though I’ve been caught out guessing that way before—and she doesn’t have that way of moving that most felid shifters exhibit. That leaves vampire, succubus, or sorcerer, and I’m not all that good at telling the difference between them.
“We’ve put a desk for you next to Erik’s,” she tells me. “He’ll show you around. Don’t eat anyone’s lunch out of the fridge, don’t steal pens, and answer the phone if it’s ringing off the hook. You’ve got a meeting with Craig and Henry at nine thirty.”
“Answer the phone?” I repeat. “Whose phone?”
“The external line,” Erik explains. “We don’t have a full-time receptionist, so calls to the public Warhammers number go to Lurlene first, then bounce around to other phones if she’s busy.”
They want me to answer business calls? Are they serious? “I don’t actually work here,” I remind them.
“You do one day a week,” Lurlene snaps.
I smile at her, but I’m pretty sure it looks like I’m just baring my teeth. “But I don’t work for the Warhammers. It’s unlikely I’d be able to help whoever was calling, because I know nothing about the club. Or hockey.”
Her mouth drops open. “What do you mean?”
How is this day already a disaster? I just got here. “I mean, if someone asks me about tickets, I don’t know how much they cost, how to sell them, or where?—”
“Not that! You said you know nothing about hockey.”
Oh. That. I shrug. “That’s right.”
She turns on Erik, who holds his hands up in defense. “That’s the whole point of this program, Lurlene. We’re trying to get more of my people interested in our sport.”
“Don’t you think that would be easier if the people running it were interested?”
She has an excellent point there.
“That’s what I’m here for,” Erik assures her. “Ari’s just helping me coordinate. He’s here to show that the government supports this program.”
Well, that makes me feel special.
“Unacceptable,” she declares. “He doesn’t need to be a lifelong fan, but he at least needs to know something about the game.”
“Why?” I ask, genuinely curious. After all, most of what I’ll be doing is reaching out to schools and community programs and hosting some open days. Occasionally facilitating pregamemeet-and-greets with some of the players and the king. I don’t need to understand the game to do any of that.
Lurlene seems to take the question as a personal affront. “How, exactly, are you going to interest people in something you don’t know anything about?”
“I don’t need to know how the game is played to do that. I’ll be selling them on vibes. Most sports fans care more about the atmosphere and camaraderie of being a fan than they do about the actual sport.”
Judging by the look on her face, I’ve just waved goodbye to any chance I had of staying on her good side. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me lately, but this has to stop. I take a deep breath and dredge up my charm.
“What I meant was?—”
“You will learn about this sport,” she orders, and I can clearly hear the impliedor else.
